


You Should See Me in a Flower Crown

by packyourknivesandgo



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bees, Fluff, M/M, Post-Reichenbach, Sheriarty - Freeform, Sherlock Holmes and Bees, Sherlock's POV, jimlock, mrs. hudson is a pothead, they're literally the cutest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-22
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-09-19 07:42:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9427364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/packyourknivesandgo/pseuds/packyourknivesandgo
Summary: Jim gets Sherlock flowers, but Sherlock doesn't like them.





	

“Sherlock!” Mrs. Hudson called from downstairs. “Delivery’s for you!” 

Sherlock didn’t respond. Deeply entranced in his study of the microbial deterioration rate of skin cells when ensconced in paraffin, Sherlock was hardly aware he was in his flat, much less that Mrs. Hudson was calling for him to come downstairs. 

“Sherlock? Ooh-hoo!” Mrs. Hudson peered around the front door to 221B, her arms full of something. “Sherlock? Didn’t you hear me calling your name?” 

“Hmm? Oh. No, not at all. I’ve been experimenting.”

“Well, you had a delivery downstairs,” Mrs. Hudson waddled in with a gargantuan bouquet composed of salmon hyacinths and amethyst lilac, the gaps filled with golden calendulas. She set the ostentatiously golden vase on the nearest table, the vase sounding heavier than a cinder block. “I’m not your housekeeper, you know. This vase was quite heavy to carry up the stairs.”

“Of course not, Mrs. Hudson. Mind fetching me some tea?” 

“Not your housekeeper, Sherlock,” she hesitated, remembering what it was like to have him gone for two years. It was much quieter but far less interesting. “Just this once.”

Sherlock sat back from his microscope, blinking rapidly in an attempt to rewet his dry eyes. He finally processed what Mrs. Hudson set on the table. 

The detective stood and took a second to examine the flowers. 

Why would anyone send him flowers? Most people sent flowers for a reason, but what could the reason be? He hadn’t won anything nor lost anyone. It wasn’t his birthday, and those who would want to celebrate his birthday knew better than to send him flowers regardless. 

Sherlock looked for a card and saw a tiny envelope with “Mr. Holmes” scrawled across the center of the envelope. He lifted the ivory envelope, pulling an even smaller card from it. Sherlock couldn’t believe what he read.

So glad to hear you’ve made it back safely. Be in touch soon. -JM

“No,” Sherlock whispered. Jim was dead. Sherlock had watched him die so intimately, staring into the diminutive man’s eyes.

“What is it, Sherlock? Who is it from?” Mrs. Hudson had returned with a cuppa and biscuits biscuits for each of them.

Sherlock pondered whether or not he should tell her. Then again, if he trusted anyone, it was Mrs. Hudson.

“It’s from Jim Moriarty. Apparently...he’s not dead.”

Sherlock tried to rapidly process all of the emotions he felt at once. Fear, anxiety, defeat, and something else popping up in the back, forcing its way through: excitement...no...elation. He tried to suppress it, but a grin creeped across his face.

“Sherlock, why are you smiling like that? It’s not right. The madman is back. It’s not right you smiling like that.”

“No, Mrs. Hudson, you don’t understand. It’s a new game.”

Sherlock pondered the flower choice within the bouquet. It had to have a larger meaning. They weren’t just flowers. Nothing is ever that simple.

Lilacs. Lilacs are used to remind people of former romantic interests and were used in the Victorian Era to remind the recipient of their first love. 

“Interesting,” Sherlock muttered as he continued to work through his analysis, despite the fact that Mrs. Hudson was trying to interrupt him.

What else? 

Hyacinths. Something about Apollos and Zephyr, the gods of the sun and west wind respectively...They were fighting over the Greek boy the flower is named after. 

What does it mean?

Calendulas. Marigolds. A dually named flower representing the calendar, or better yet time. 

It was a hidden message. How could it not be? But what was the message. 

Sherlock’s crystal irises flickered back and forth rapidly as he assembled, dismantled, and reassembled the puzzle pieces until it finally clicked. 

Sherlock’s first love. One of two people competing for his attentions. Someone who was short on time. 

Jim Moriarty was attempting to woo Sherlock. 

The detective blushed as he realized that the consulting criminal had guessed his secret, and now he was announcing his attentions in the simultaneously most and least traditional manner possible.

By the time Sherlock snapped out of his mind palace, Mrs. Hudson was gone, vacuuming downstairs. He composed a quick text to her.

Don’t tell anyone. They’ll worry.

As he sent “send”, Sherlock’s phone made a rude noise. He had never changed his ringtone for The Woman, and knew it would be her. He could not be more interested at the moment but checked the message in case she was communicating on Jim’s behalf.

What he got was better.

Enjoy the flowers? -JM

Sherlock typed a quick retort.

How do I know this is JM? -SH

The Woman let me have her phone. She knew it was the best way to get your attention. -JM

The question stands. -SH

As does mine, Sherlock Holmes. -JM

No. I did not enjoy the flowers. There are bees that could’ve benefitted from them so much more than I. -SH

Ah. -JM

But I got the message. -SH

Goooood boy. -JM

Sherlock dropped his phone in the pocket of his Belstaff as he flung it over his frame. Rapidly gliding down the stairs, he popped by Mrs. Hudson’s flat to make sure she got the text. 

“Mrs. Hudson, I--” Sherlock stopped mid-sentence, surprised to see his landlady sitting on her sofa, hands wrapped around a two foot long bong that was sculpted to look like a dragon climbing a castle turret, “--what are you doing?”

“Oh this? I thought that if Moriarty were back, I might as well be blazed when he began destroying all of London,” she giggled. “By the time you two are finished, there’ll be nothing left.”

“I see. Well, I was just checking to make sure you wouldn’t tell anyone. Don’t want to upset big brother or dear John.”

“Your secret is safe with me, dear.”

Sherlock nodded, exiting to Baker Street, not knowing exactly where he was going.

His mobile buzzed in his pocket. Thankfully, Sherlock had thought to silence that ringtone.

Looking for me, Mr. Holmes? Did you miss me? -JM

Honestly? -SH

I would expect nothing less. -JM

Yes. -SH

The roof of Portland Place. Come play. -JM

Sherlock chuckled and dropped his phone in his pocket, shaking his head. Was this really happening? He couldn’t keep the smile off of his face as he spent the next fifteen minutes of his walk thinking about all of the possibilities that could happen. 

How did he do it?

The detective made his way up the building’s stairs, cautiously opening the door when he got to the roof. When he stepped through, the sight caused his breath to hitch and pulse to jump. 

The entire roof was enveloped in all sorts of plants, obviously newly planted because the soil was still unsettled. Crocuses, lilacs, hyacinths, calendulas, and borage as well as larger vining plants and shrubs fully fleshed out the space on the roof. At the far end of the roof, there was a white wooden gazebo with a checked plaid blanket covered in a variety of picnic foods. 

“What is this?” Sherlock gasped as he stepped forward a few paces. 

A voice came from behind him, “A present for you. Since you didn’t like the flowers I gave you before, I thought I might make it up to you.”

Sherlock turned around and as he soaked in the sight of Jim Moriarty standing in front of him, his pupils dilated and his heart began thrumming at a new pace. When he got over the fact that Jim was there and alive, Sherlock noticed just how silly the man looked in trousers with stains on the knees, a floppy garden hat, and sunglasses. 

“Welcome to Eden,” Jim said as he made a sweeping motion with his hand, “or at least my greatest attempt to execute it. All of the flowers planted here were specifically chosen because they are the best for bees. Speaking of, there is a hive in the corner directly across from the gazebo, so we can watch them.”

“Oh,” Sherlock was struggling to find words for once, “no one has ever done anything like this for me.”

“That’s because they don’t know your worth,” Jim uttered as he stepped forward, reaching up to place his right hand on Sherlock’s cheek. 

Sherlock responded by dragging his thumb across Jim’s jaw, still not sure if this was real. “It seems to me that I might have underestimated yours as well.”

Jim fluttered his eyes closed, “Kiss me, Sherlock. We both know this was meant to happen.”

Sherlock leaned down to meet Jim’s lips as the criminal stood on his toes to reach his detective. 

The kiss was magnetic, ecstatic, captivating, exhilarating: everything the two men ever hoped it would be.


End file.
